


noticing a call

by Natallee_Kae



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Fluff, M/M, canon character death, why can't i write happy things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28934094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natallee_Kae/pseuds/Natallee_Kae
Summary: Jack had to move on. He needed to. Otherwise he was going to get himself killed.
Relationships: Gideon/Jack Mitchell (Call of Duty), Will Irons/Jack Mitchell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. second chances

At fifteen years old, Will Irons was already six foot. The smug kid thought it was some personal achievement but Jack knew that Will was simply blessed with tall genes. Jack, himself, was five foot six which -he had to adamantly insist to Will- was average height for his age. Will loved to contend that Jack was in fact short.

It didn’t last. By the time they had reached 18, Jack stood 2 inches above him.

Looking up to Will - figuratively and literally - was an accepted facet of being his friend. He was a star in every way and had the well-off family to go with it; but he was humble about it which was another thing to admire. He was well built for a kid and had a confident, boisterous attitude that drew everyone in. That included a good third of the girls in their class and all the friends anyone could want.

Jack was impressively scrawny and remarkably standard. He was the guy you would ask to copy the homework off and expect no sort of resistance. The reliable nice kid. The person that did everything in the most normal, inoffensive way. It was a good way to go by; he wasn’t picked on and he was friendly with enough people. He was in the middle of the spectrum of lonely to well-loved.

His family was decently supported in the financial sense too. His dad was ex-military and worked full time in a garage, while his mom was an accountant at an investment firm. There was enough excess money for Jack to receive gift on his birthday and Christmas, as long as the gifts were somewhat minimal. Jack wasn’t one to complain.

Somehow, Will had attached himself to Jack like bur to clothing. Will would not leave his side if he had the choice. He sat next to him in class, invited him over to his house or his dad’s gun-range, and texted him constantly. Jack definitely wasn’t complaining, but sometimes he had to question this unshakable loyalty. They had been friends since the start of elementary, but normally people like him would ditch their childhood friends. Not Will. He would never do that.

Jack wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but he was more than a little attached to Will too.

Things got clearer as a year progressed, because Will was not keeping Jack around out of just kindness. At age 16, Will and Jack had kissed in the boys’ bathroom at a school dance. Two days later, after a proper talk, they kissed again in Jack’s bedroom.

Those were exciting days. Jack remembered the sloppy attempts of keeping their ‘thing’ secret from others. The muffled giggling and the secret, subdued smiles. It was innocent and sweet. Despite their poor efforts, no one suspected a thing.

Jack loved Will. It took a while to be able to stomach even thinking about that phrase. Not only had Jack’s dad been a military man with strong conservative values, but it felt wrong to be gay. No one else he knew was gay (excluding the rumours about the chemistry teacher) and it was a sort of taboo around school. Luckily, Jack had the internet.

Will was gentle and kind when he wasn’t jovial and supportive. He would ruffle Jack’s hair and kiss him on the cheek and praise him constantly. Jack ate it all up. There was no one else that he could open up to like he could to Will.

And it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair Will died the way he did. It wasn’t fair that Jack was forced to leave him there, stuck in that machine. It wasn’t fair that Jack had to move on. It wasn’t fair that the Will-shaped hole in Jack had to be filled by something else.

The something else became alcohol for a small while. A cycle of drinking then waking up hung over, sitting on the floor beside the toilet. He became unsure if he was mourning Will or mourning himself. Of course, the drinking didn’t help. There was a crack that the alcohol kept flowing out of and the more he drank, the more he needed to drink. He was never satisfied, the hole was never filled.

The drinking only lasted for a few weeks before he pulled himself out of it. The subsequent days were filled with anger and hopelessness and crying. The urge to throw a dinner plate or smash the TV screen. The desire to reach for the bottle again. The feeling of succumbing to another bout of tears.

The hole had to be filled, and quickly. Jack was clueless. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He had lost his source of income along with his arm, and he would receive hardly any compensation money from the military; Seoul had been his first and last assignment so paying for a shrink was out of the question.

The hole never disappeared, just hid itself. Jack was recruited into ATLAS, which turned his mind into a preoccupied state. It became easy to function on autopilot, to shut of the brain and all lingering thoughts. Firing a gun was a muscle memory affair and Jack let his body steer. He was so exhausted in the evenings that he never had a chance to think, and he appreciated that.

If only the nightmares would stop.

Gideon noticed. His captain. Gideon. The British guy who was in charge of Jack’s progress in adapting to ATLAS’s technology and redeveloping and developing the necessary skills. The dude that had stupid blonde tips and a personality like a plastic bag of needles. _That_ Gideon.

Jack could laugh at himself at how obviously miserable he must have looked for Gideon to notice. Was it the bags under his eyes? Or the one word responses? Maybe it was his lack of appetite? One would have to be amazingly clueless to miss his obvious distress signals. He was too tired to pay attention at that point. He could use a drink but he was much too afraid of falling down another slippery slope of alcoholism so he avoided it altogether.

“You should get help.” The captain said bluntly after a successful simulation run. The sentence hadn’t been preceded by anything that would have anticipated such a statement. Jack was plainly shocked that those words had come out of Gideon’s mouth. No suggestions had appeared in the prior days either. Simultaneously, it was also an elephant in the room that Jack was waiting to be addressed.

“I’m sorry?” He responded, playing dumb. There wasn’t much else he could answer with that wasn’t too blunt of a reply. In the worst case Gideon would elaborate, in the best case he would let it go.

Gideon rolled his eyes. Ah. The third case: Gideon gets annoyed. Should have thought about that one first. That response wasn’t so unexpected from him. It was more jarring that he had _only_ rolled his eyes, not spew vitriol about his lack of emotional co-ordination. Maybe a ‘you need to get yourself together.’

Gideon did let it go, but if the point of the statement was to make Jack aware of his mental state, it succeeded.

Jack tried to change. The act of not looking totally dead on the outside wasn’t challenging. The inside was a different ballgame.

Will had soft, chocolate hair and grass green eyes. Jack saw so in his dreams almost every night. To Google “how to stop having nightmares” would generate the advice ‘cut caffeine.’ Right. Because abandoning coffee would definitely make Jack appear _less_ fucked up.

Was Jack supposed to somehow get _more_ sleep? He fell asleep as soon as he could possibly get into bed. Unless he was supposed to sleep in which obviously wasn’t a viable option here. He could try sleeping on his breaks to accumulate the hours of rest. So he did.

Google pointed him in all sorts of direction, including all sorts of whacky pseudo-science. Nutrition was another factor that came up. Was he eating bad? He ate what he was given, which he trusted was healthy enough. Someone had to be in charge of deciding what diet would best benefit soldiers. But it was possible that he needed a diet best suited to someone who was having a slow, constant mental degeneration. What would that even include? Fucking spaghetti?

No. He was not doing any better than before. Worse even.

So Jack pretended. He faked in front of Gideon like a pathetic actor who was given a shit role in a low budget play. When Gideon asked a question, Jack would speak like he was reciting lines; clear, enunciation and rehearsed. He opened his eyes like widening them hard enough would make the eyebags go away. He ate like a fucking champ despite how sick he felt afterwards.

Gideon noticed. Jack’s carefully delivered responses would be met with a confused look. Gideon would look down at Jack’s dinner tray to see a decent amount of food, only to subtly squint and attempt to decipher Jack’s pained expressions. Gideon still saw it all like nothing had changed.

Either he wasn’t doing a good enough job to fix himself, or there was no fooling Gideon. Gideon was a pretty astute guy in most aspects. No mistakes performed in training would slip past him. No opportunity for a berating went unseized. Apparently Gideon would not stop at training blunders. He seemed to keep an eye on all his soldiers’ emotional states in order to jam a crowbar in and get a chance at a scolding.

Jack wondered if it was worth the effort trying to fool him anymore. He was pretty much fucked at this point. As long as it didn’t affect his work performance then it didn’t matter.

He didn’t _think_ it was affecting his work performance. As far as he could tell his reflexes were as fast as always. He aimed pretty well and his prosthetic had melded fantastically with his body. Gideon didn’t have much to criticize in terms of Jack’s performance. 

“So what are you getting at?” Gideon asked as he approached Jack after training. He clearly loved vagueness. Jack wasn’t sure if playing dumb this time was even worth it. Neither of them were idiots; it was plain and blindingly clear what the question meant.

“I don’t know what you want from me.” Jack replied, aggressively honest. Gideon and Jack were practically strangers, the only relationship being a professional one with Gideon being Jack’s superior. Jack immediately regretted the brusque response. He was getting lousy with remembering his role in all this. Gideon seemed to be fine with the directness and moved on to what he aimed to get across.

“Don’t act like it’s not obvious. Four cups of coffee a day? Are you serious? And yesterday I asked you about your arm calibration and you said it was fine. The next second you fucking reach for a MP443 and _miss._ It was literally in front of you.”

Jack didn’t think he had seen that minor gaffe. He thought he had made it pretty subtle. Gideon must have been watching him like a hawk. It wasn’t even a mistake that had any relevance to his performance. In a moment of concentration he had accidently miscalculated the distance his arm would need to travel. Of course Gideon had to bring it up.

“That was literally nothing. I was tire-“ Jack bit back.

Gideon snorted. “You’re always tired. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I’m sorry? My performance has been fucking top since I came here. Only gotten better. You know that.”

“I don’t give a shit about your performance!” Gideon stated irritably. It confused Jack immensely. Why _wouldn’t_ he care about his performance? That was his only purpose at ATLAS. That should be Gideon’s _only_ focus and priority. Nothing else. That was the point, wasn’t it? Jack confusedly paused and frowned. His failure to respond to Gideon’s remark left a stagnant pause in the conversation, leaving Gideon to press on.

“I’m _concerned_ for you, Mitchell.” That was some news that Jack didn’t expect. It was hard to believe really. Gideon was concerned for him? The same Gideon that knew a thousand synonyms for the word ‘bad’ and had a lack of the phrase ‘well done’ in his vocabulary? “You look like shit, mate. Everyone can see it.” Said Gideon.

“Thanks,” Mitchell retorted sarcastically, scratching his nose, “That really helps me out.”

“I think you should see a psychiatrist.” Gideon stated seriously. Mitchell’s whole body stood still. A psychiatrist? He had always meant to get one, but he could never afford it. On ATLAS’s salary he could maybe save up for an appointment, but not anything consistent. It wasn’t like his captain cared anyway. He laughed humourlessly.

“I would, but I don’t have that kind of money.”

Gideon shook his head. “ATLAS has an onsite psychiatry team. They offer it free of charge to soldiers.”

“Oh.” That was it then. His solution. See a psychiatrist. Talk to them. Talk about his problems. What were his problems again? It seemed so far away. He had become so separated from what was making his fucked up that he didn’t even know what stem to start from. How was he supposed to tell his psychiatrist his problems if he couldn’t even tell _himself_ his problems? “I guess that’s what I should do.” He declared, trying to sound sure of himself to Gideon. Gideon looked sympathetic.

“I get that it’s hard. But you should consider it. ATLAS takes care of its soldiers. Even if its mental health issues. You know? Depression. All that.”

Depression? Did he have that? It sounded ugly when Gideon called it ‘mental health issues.’ He supposed it was true, but he had never thought of it like that. It sounded clinical. Like a disease you could get in your lungs or heart. Not some breakdown that could be cured by downing a bottle of whiskey. But it was strangely cathartic to hear words to describe it. Maybe he _was_ depressed. Maybe he could get rid of it with proper treatment. It could go away.


	2. pouring concrete

It had been three years of working at ATLAS. Not painless years, but not joyless. It had been invigorating. Blood pumping and captivating. ATLAS accomplished extraordinary amounts for the world thanks to the work of ATLAS soldiers. Jack had helped, alongside his buddies, Ilona, Joker, and Gideon.

It was strange calling Gideon a friend, but it was true. They had gotten a lot closer over the years. The friendliness came with the need for trust in each other and turned into a proper friendship. Gideon was someone he could confide in. He was still the dipshit he always was, obviously.

He was just a dipshit that Jack didn’t hate to be around.

The four of them usually hung around after missions to watch the playback of their exo cams and poke fun at each other. It was a great time. He loved having people around him again. It had been so long since he had companions to not only talk to, but to just bask in the company of. After their recent mission in Ghana, the gang were hanging out in Jack’s room.

“Oof. Nice trip there.” Joker cringed, snickering and turning away from the OLED screen to face Ilona who was sitting on a chair sipping a glass of water. Joker reached forward to rewind. Ilona had unfortunately tripped on an uneven pavement. It could be seen from Jack’s cam perspective. At the time, Jack hadn’t noticed it. Fortunately, Joker managed to catch the embarring fumble. Ilona glared harshly back at Joker and flipped him off as she took a drink. Gideon walked up to the screen to change to his own perspective.

After swallowing her water, Ilona laughed back at him. “Good thing I didn’t trip on you. Your weak-ass muscles couldn’t take the weight of a fly.”

Joker scoffed humorously as Jack snorted in the background. Gideon cleared his throat and shushed them, pointing to the screen.

“Watch.” he said, eyes fixed on the monitor. The others quickly obeyed. On the screen, Gideon took cover behind a car and gestured to a person on his left. Then in a quick motion, he chucked a frag grenade out. The grenade flew through the air and landed squarely into the basket of a bicycle like a three-pointer into a hoop. It exploded, downing three tangos nearby.

The room erupted in laughing and cheering.

“Holy shit!” Joker cackled. Gideon smirked, leaned back and took a drink of his beer bottle. Jack laughed too and patted Gideon on the shoulder good-naturedly.

“Have you considered a career in basketball?” Ilona offered, with a grin on her face. Gideon scoffed.

“I’m almost _too_ tall for basketball. The other team would complain that the match was uneven in my favour.” He mused sarcastically.

“It’s okay, Gideon. No need to compensate for your shortness.” Joker stated. Gideon shook his head in mock disappointment.

“I’m not the one who needs compensation for my height, Mr. five foot ten- “He teased.

“-And three quarters, thank you very much.” Joker added.

Mitchell laughed “If the three quarters matter, then you’re compensating.”

“You dick.” Joker took a final swig of his beer and placed it on the table. “I need to piss.” He stood up and left the room. Ilona grinned.

“He couldn’t take the heat.” She chuckled. She checked her watch and yawned. “It’s 10 pm. I’m going to sleep.” She stood up. “Night guys!” Jack and Gideon bid her goodnight as she left the room.

“Guess I’m washing her cup.” Jack complained as he noticed she had left it on the table.

“That’s a solid twenty seconds of your time.” Gideon mocked him sardonically with a teasing look on his face.

Jack shrugged. “Twenty seconds I could be sleeping. Want another beer?” He stood up to get one.

“No.”

“Okay then.” Jack redirected himself to turn of the OLED display. Using a menu in the corner, he selected ‘Shut down’ which led to the entire screen going dark. Satisfied, he turned and sat on the edge of his bed. “Jeez. Joker’s taking a long time to piss.”

“I think he abandoned our asses.” Gideon said as he stretched his arms above his head. “And left his jacket. What a fucking guy.”

Jack chuckled and stood up again to pick up some beer bottles and collect them in a pile.

“I don’t ever see you drink.” Gideon prompted. It was statement that acted like a question. Jack didn’t realize that he had been so obvious. It had been ages since he cared about hiding these sorts of things. He grew to be comfortable with his friends and didn’t think that any of them would be keeping tabs on him. Gideon did.

“I don’t do it that often. You’ve seen me drink once I think. I stopped a while ago.” Jack felt comfortable telling him these things. Gideon cared. Jack knew this. Jack sat back down on the bed, putting his legs up.

“Why?” Gideon asked curiously. Jack took a deep breath. He wasn’t exactly expecting a therapy session.

“A rough patch I went through a couple years ago.” he answered honestly. “You know.” He said with an insinuating tone. Gideon nodded knowingly.

“Right. Were you ever going to tell me what that was about?” Gideon asked. Jack felt as though that was a bit of a blunt question. He would have been annoyed with any other person, but that was just Gideon’s style. He could deal with it because he knew Gideon was only trying to support him. It wouldn’t hurt to let him know about what he went through. He needed to tell someone other than his therapist.

“Well. I can tell you now.”

“Sorry. Rude question. You don’t have to.” Gideon backtracked in sudden realization.

“No, I want to. I should.” Jack nodded, more to himself than to Gideon. He took another deep breath. “You probably know this already, but I was discharged from the marines after my injury in Seoul. My team were assisting a demolitions team, and we had to plant charges in a Havoc launcher because the demo team were all KIA. Will - my friend - planted the charges.” Jack had to stop momentarily. It didn’t get any easier did it? “His arm got stuck. We trie- I tried to pull the door off. But it took off. With Will. And the charges we _just_ planted went off. It’s so fucking stupid!” Jack held bunches of cloth from his pantlegs within his close fists and looked up at the ceiling, gritting his teeth in frustration. “Will was my best friend. If I’d just pulled a little harder. Or if _I_ planted the charges. So many ways I could have changed it and I didn’t. Will was my fucking best friend. I loved him.”

Gideon looked solemn but firm. “It wasn’t your fault. A person’s not supposed to be able to pry open the hatch of a Havoc launcher. They were designed that way. You were never going to be able to do it. And if you’d planted the charges yourself, _you_ would have died. You’d probably say you’d prefer that but that’s not fair. He wouldn’t have wanted that. And people want you here.”

Jack accepted the words. Gideon didn’t pity him. He appreciated that.

“Thanks.” He replied quietly. Gideon nodded.

“So it was him then?”

“Hm?”

“The reason you needed psychiatric help?”

“Yeah.”

Gideon hummed to himself.

“Will was more than a friend, wasn’t he.” Gideon asked quietly without the inflection that would make it a question. It was a statement, really. A spark of panic pinged within Jack’s heart instantaneously. How did he know?

“You love to just say things out of the blue.” Jack diverted the question.

“You love to just not answer questions.”

“Fuck! Fine. We were in a relationship. We had been for like five years. How the fuck did you guess?”

“You said you loved him.” Gideon stated like it was obvious.

“Did I?” Jack groaned. “Dude, you can’t take advantage of me when I’m in a vulnerable state.”

“Your words. You said ‘em.”

“You can love your friends! It’s definitely not gay to love your friends.”

“Definitely not gay.”

“Exactly.”

“So if you said you loved me it wouldn’t be gay at all.” Gideon stated simply.

Jack gave Gideon the most incredulous look humanly possible.

“You’re a moron. Of course I love you.” Jack snickered without hesitation. Gideon had clearly underestimated Jack’s lack of shame when opportunities arose to tease Gideon. Gideon hadn’t expected his lack of delay and his face went totally stoic in embarrassment. “It’s not gay to love your friends.” He shrugged and lay back down on the bed.

The door swung open and revealed Joker who wandered in lazily. Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Taking a shit.” Joker responded nonchalantly, clearly intoxicated. Gideon shook his head in shame and Jack cracked a smile. He stumbled forwards scanning the room for something, presumably his jacket.

Jack called to him. “Bro. I have a question for you. Is it gay to love your friends?”

Joker shook his head adamantly. “Dude, ’course not. Love you man.”

“Love you too dude.” Jack responded. Joker subsequently collected his jacket, said his farewells and left the room. Jack and Gideon were left alone again.

“Are you leaving too?” Jack inquired as he yawned.

Gideon stayed silent for a moment. Jack looked questioningly at him and swung his legs over the sides of the bed. Gideon sighed and got up.

“I’m sorry about your partner. You obviously loved him a lot.”

Jack looked down again, not sure the intention of bringing up the topic again. He thought that particular discussion point had passed smoothly, but Gideon apparently wanted to resurrect it. “It’s fine. I mean, it wasn’t your fault. I’m mostly over him.”

“It’s a big ‘mostly.’”

“Yeah. A _very_ big ‘mostly.’” Jack stood up to face him. Gideon reached over to place a hand on his shoulder.

“You know I’m here for you.” He stated. “I love you, mate.”

“See! I told you it’s not gay.”

“No but… that’s the thing. It _is._ ”

“What.”

Jack couldn’t voice his thoughts because Gideon kissed him. Jack could taste beer and could feel the course sensation of Gideon’s stubble. The immediate shock hit him first before he placed a hand on the back of his neck and kissed him back.

“Gideon…” Jack murmured in adoration. The two separated their lips and leaned their foreheads against each other’s.

“I wanted to help you,” Gideon spoke gently between the two of them, “But I never knew why I wanted to help you so bad. But I realized…”

“You’re bad at emotions.” Jack snickered softly and ran a hand down Gideon’s cheek. “Your way of showing affection is just being a dickwad.”

“Shut up.” Gideon grumbled.

“Sorry. Sorry! I love you too.”

Jack had a Will-shaped hole in his heart. Just like a square block can’t fit into a triangle gap, that space couldn’t be filled. Wounds can’t always be fixed by pouring concrete into the spaces left behind. Sometimes what you need to do is acknowledge the pain. Let your heart heal. Move on.

Jack moved on.


End file.
